Split Second Decision
by redex
Summary: ByaRenji. Momentary choice, separated number two. This is a good second love.


He has you - face pressed into a wall - in the most indecent ways possible. When you haven't seen each other for weeks, he still waits for you to make the first move - a fluttering hand against his hair - before grabbing you and mashing your bodies together regardless of fit. Last names are a rule, and they stay a rule - even while he has his hands between your legs and is holding them just so, so that when he pulls you down onto himself there will be as little pain as possible - and sometimes you think: _Renji_, but he seems to be more caught up in the formalities than even you. When you're both finished - leg's shaking, can hardly stand as the cum drips down the inside of your leg disgustingly - baths are in order, seperately, never together, attributed to the cleanliness of Kuchiki-hime and not the odd shyness of a certain Abarai. 

Today, when you stumble to the bath after wood sliding under your grasping hands and a heavy weight pressing down on you, you are soothed almost to sleep. You have always had the presence of mind to make sitting in the bath so that you face the doorway a habit, and have ordered Renji to keep the door open - not to ventilate the air, but so that you can see him walk around naked through your quarters.

He's comfortable in his nakedness, and perhaps it is from growing up in a place where clothing was an option, not a necessity. You realize that your metaphorical message in taking off all your clothes in front of him has been lost in translation, but he is manliness incarnate when he is naked. Smooth, toned muscles criss-crossed by twirling, primeval tattoos in black that only highlight his beautiful red hair - falling around his shoulders from the bath. Scars twist the pattern in places and they only make it more beautiful. He's hung heavily, and the memory of the fullness of him in you makes you shudder. He whispers _'Taishou'_ as a benidiction, even while he's taking you - all of you.

You are aware of what you are doing to Hisana's memory, according to your old beliefs. She is the reason why you wouldn't persue this almost traditional relationship of master and servant to more than sex. He wouldn't want you to.

The bathing is done, and he's sitting there, whittling away again in the chair by the door, leaving a pile of small shavings on the floor between his feet. You indicate that you are done - but too tired to get out by yourself - and he comes over to get you - teasing words in the low drawl of his present and accounted for. You rest a hand on his arm and he looks at it like it's a foregn object before looking at you, questioningly. His firm belief in your superiority makes debasing it that much harder. You make a comment half seriously - you don't think you'll be able to walk all the way to the bed - and he looks at you in concern before making up his mind and gathering you in his arms with a grunt, lifts you like a new bride out of the bath and carries you into the bedroom, dripping.

You're protesting weakly, dignity and posterity called upon, and almost laughing when you press your cheek against his warm shoulder. It's a good thing there is no one else around, because you want him to keep doing these things, pulling you out of your egg shell a little more. You are not light, and he takes a few deep breaths once you're seated on the edge of your wide bed, towelling yourself off. You're still naked - you _want_ him to look at you, but he doesn't -

Not untill you're covered by expensive linin sheets and you head is pillowed on satin feathers - where it should be. Then he gives you a little sad smile, and turns to go find his clothes. This is when you make up your mind - at the very last minute - and you spare a thought to realize how recklessly alike you are before calling him back - by his first name: _'Renji. Stay.'_

He freezes and looks back over his shoulder, and you know he is wondering if you've gone mad - but you're looking at him with every serious plea you can imagine filling your eyes - and he comes back.

You look up at him once, and can't do it again - confronted by that male body and those strong hands - instead, you stare at the cream sheets that are closer in color to your skin than his. You want him to spend the night with you, in this bed, the way Hisana used to; you want to see what it feels like - and you say all of this to the silence in a low, quiet voice. You want him to hold you - and you say that too.

He tries out your name - _'Byakuya'_ - with a questioning tone, implying the questioning of use of drugs, overtiredness, confusion - any excuse to save him the knowlege that he has broken through the barriers and peeled them back against his own knowlege and will.

He's awkward, suddenly, trying to fit into the squareness of the bed instead of making it fit him. You smooth his hair back from his face and he looks at you with a little smile. His legs are surprisingly smooth when your feet slide up them - cooled from the bath and making him curse in surprise before blushing. He's shorter than you - perhaps a lack of nutrients as a child - and you press your cheek against his hair.

You know that neither of you actually fall asleep, waiting out the night, but you know that when he pulls away from your gently stroking fingers on his arm it is time to let go. You will, perhaps, not see him for a few days while he sorts out his thoughts. Perhaps you will get a visit from Rukia, who asks oblique questions after hearing only part of the story from his friend. Perhaps even Ukitake will visit, all smiles and fondness, offering congraduations on the wisdom too often rebuked of moving on, gained. But he will reappear at will, and becuase you know his character - willful, prideful, and restless - so similar to your own, you know he will only accept this from you, to stay back every night without being asked.

Hisana only did so because she felt it was her duty - _'I'm sorry I couldn't have loved you better'_, but Renji is doing it for himself, and that makes all the difference in a second love.


End file.
